Why I’m not proud of the UK’s Female Prime Ministers

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In Liz Truss’ first Prime Minister’s Questions, she was asked by fellow Conservative, and ex-Prime Minister, Theresa May why all female Prime Ministers have been Conservatives. This was not so much a question, but a jubilant celebration; Truss marked the third female to become Prime Minister in the UK. Yet the circumstances of her victory reflect similar stories of her female predecessors, and an alarming pattern of the contemporary Conservative Party: producing incompetent, unlikeable and short-lived female leaders–who are inevitably doomed to fail. 

Extending the metaphor of the ‘Glass Ceiling’, which describes the difficulty faced by women to access leadership positions, the ‘Glass Cliff’ describes the precarious, vulnerable nature of women’s leadership once achieved. This in turn gives a higher chance of her inevitable failure, after which they are perceived as “better scapegoats”.

All of the UK’s female Prime Ministers were appointed during times of severe political turmoil and challenge. Thatcher’s term commenced after the gruelling winter of discontent, characterised by high levels of striking and unemployment. May was appointed in the wake of the Brexit Referendum, tasked with negotiating a withdrawal agreement that would transition the UK out of the EU. She further faced a hung Parliament following her bid for a larger parliamentary majority in 2019, amongst a more striking animosity amongst her Brexiteer colleagues and frosty EU negotiators. Truss perhaps inherited the most difficult political climate of recent memory: an impending cost-of-living crisis, economic recession, and public outrage following Johnson’s catastrophic exit from office. 

May and Truss resigned from office prematurely due to political failure. Truss’ premiership lasted a record-breaking forty-five days, the shortest time in office in recent memory. Her disastrously tone-deaf economic package failed to reflect the needs and mood of an intensely worried nation. May lost her already weak grip on Parliament, and failed to deliver a Brexit deal that appeased strident Brexiteers. Many would argue that resignations are becoming an increasingly normalised feature of UK Politics, thus merely circumstantial to the time we are living in–and nothing to do with gender. Indeed, both May and Truss’ male predecessors resigned. What is less circumstantial, however, is the fact that they were not replaced by other women. In the eyes of the Conservative Party, the risk of selecting a woman had been paid, and a return to stability meant a return to male leadership.

It feels ridiculous to suggest that the Conservative Party are secret sexist plotters committed to proving the inadequacy of female leadership, especially at the expense of the nation’s unstable political climate. I should feel lucky that we have had a woman become Prime Minister at all: compared to Europe and the US, we have an impressive achievement of producing three female Prime Ministers. Party politics aside, this should be something celebrated. But how can this be celebrated, if all our examples of female leadership have resulted in catastrophe? 

The Conservative Party may be quick to advertise its achievements for producing female leaders, but in reality the consequences of these selections produce more harm than good. I do not feel proud that the UK has produced three female Prime Ministers. They are simply not good examples of strong leadership. I instead feel ashamed that for many, female political leadership will forever be associated with weakness, and failure.